Dave doesn’t have friends, he has acquaintances. He sees the same people in the same pub every day, always betting on the horses. And for all the friends he doesn’t have he does have secrets, he’s unemployed, he likes men, and... well... he’s been on female hormones for over two years.

With Cheltenham, the biggest jumps racing festival of the year coming up, a string of bad luck means Dave might miss out on the week of gambling. That is until Chelsea—the only female gambler in the bar—makes an offer; a simple, honest offer, and one from her heart. No, she doesn’t want Dave in a dress, she doesn’t know his secret. It’s something far more direct than that.

A once off, self contained short story.

The worst-looking car in the company lot was Jerry’s. It made no sense to Ron. Jerry was, pardon the expression, a hell of an engineer, and a beloved mentor to his younger colleagues. His skills were rare. Knowing so, he did all he could to pass them on, for his responsibility was an arcane but critically essential part of the company’s flagship product. Tens of billions of dollars worth sold; not Apple, but you’d know the name.